Paris glanced back for a second, he saw the three figures in the distance tiny, like Paris was up here and they were all down there. Elevations were reversed in reality, of course. He looked back to the facade of the lighthouse. Paris swore he could see splatters of blood painted over the doorway leading in, but he was probably just seeing things.

"Yeah. I have to do something, even if I don't know what."

He watched Maxwell for just a second. He didn't know what Maxwell was thinking, Paris realized. Paris didn't really read into the meanings or values in the contortions of Maxwell's face.

"I think Aria might be better with you and your friends, not going with me. Maybe you should take him." Paris laughed a bit. "I can vouch for him, he's cool."

The lighthouse was probably another minute's worth of flat terrain away. Paris began to pick up the pace, slightly, his legs pumping a bit faster. Maxwell would start to fall behind if he didn't also speed up to match.

He wasn’t sure. The words that came out of his mouth - the idea that him and Paris could be heroes, gallivanting around the island stopping any neer do well that happened to be threatening the damsels of P.J Hobbs - seemed ludicrous to him. Why did he say it? Why was he acting as if playing the role of the hero - actively trying to help people who weren’t himself - was something smart, something beneficial to his chances of surviving this game? He didn’t know. To be honest, he was even doubting his capabilities of doing that. Half the school - all the kids at the bottom of the totem pole who acted as if going against him somehow made them original or morally superior - seemed to hate him, seemed unwilling to listen to him. Why would that change here? Why would anyone be willing to listen to Maxwell Lombardi, professional jackass, the king who all the subjects seemed to hate?

He wasn’t sure.

But he’d said it. His piece. His idea of pitious heroism.

So he supposed - even if he himself wanted to win, even if he himself wanted to live - that he was going to have to commit to it.

He stopped as Paris stopped. Looked around. Talked to him. It seemed as if the plan was different than Maxwell had thought it would go. It seemed as if Paris would be going alone.

And there was something Maxwell could say, in response to that. A warning. A word of advice. A suggestion that his friend not fight, not try to do whatever he was doing alone, but he wasn’t sure what the point was. He wasn’t sure why he was even trying to act as if he was going to be the hero, as if anything he would do on this island would be something he’d be proud of.

But Paris was his friend. A person he respected.

He supposed that there was no harm in paying tribute to that.

“Alright, I will,” he said, turning around.

Pausing.

Questioning whether this was the last time he would see Paris alive.

“But, um…”

His speech tripped. His brain stopped. For once, he wasn’t sure what to say.

“If you find anyone, tell them to head to the cabin in the middle of the woods. We’ll be there. We’ll keep them safe.”

"We'll make it work, alright?" Paris nodded with a slight wave off. It sounded like a good plan to Paris. Maxwell doing his thing, Paris doing something else. They'd cover more ground that way, for sure.

"And I'll stay safe, Maxwell. See ya!"

Paris watched Maxwell leaving, nodding to himself. Maxwell was a good dude, he was going to do good work and Paris was pretty sure of that. That left Paris' half of the equation. He looked back up the lighthouse longways, it's imposing tallness towering over him, casting a huge shadow over the ground with the sun high and a slight glare in Paris' face, so he put a hand to his brow. He also put his bag down on the ground, and began to search through it. A packed scarf, Kenneth Cole, and underneath it was a paper-wrapped loaf of bread, whole wheat. A little bit of energy for the long road ahead, by the looks of it. Bread would do. Paris tore off a pinch worth, popped it into his mouth and grunted. It was kind of stale. Paris closed his eyes briefly, relaxing for a second.

Memories returned to him. Smells of the briny ocean, sounds of a familiar voice.

For the most part, they had just been talking. About each other. About what their lives had been like before they had woken up here. From what Jasmine had understood of the other two, none of them really knew the other two all that well. Of course, they knew each other's names, they had vague ideas of what each other did, but that didn’t amount to anything, and if they wanted to succeed as a group - if Jasmine wanted to excel using these other two - she realized that they had to know each other. She had to make sure that the three of them were friends before anything could put the group under trial.

So, as they walked along the cliffs, as they took the long way towards the cabin to avoid the gunshots they were hearing, they’d talked. Shared stories with each other.

And admittedly, she’d smiled at some of the stories Brigid had to tell.

And admittedly, she’d laughed at some of the jokes Christopher had up his sleeves.

And admittedly, she couldn’t help but just be happy in general. That she had a group. That it was the three of them together. It was like… relief, in a way. Relief that the two of them had accepted her offer. Relief that she was safe, for now. It was... different from the other sorts of happiness she knew from school. This one had... lasted longer. This one was keeping her happy. Others didn’t. Even when she’d gotten first in her grade for English, even when Damion had first asked her out, she hadn’t felt like this. She’d just gone to her bedroom or her table at the cafeteria and the happiness had gone away in time. No. This was different. This was even greater than any of the other things she’d done, she’d achieved before.

And it’s all because’a you, girl.

Like, hey, really. There are people out there. All alone. People who’d be easy pickings for anyone who wants a name out here. That could have been you. You could’ve been out there, in those woods, being stalked or chased by some wannabe psychopath?

But y’know what? You’re not. You’re right here, and you’ve got two people willing to die for you.

And that’s all because’a you girl.

And she knew that this happiness wouldn’t last.

And she knew that she couldn’t stay in this group forever.

But she’d take her happiness. She’d rise up. She’d hang out with these two and feel absolutely elated about doing it.

Well.

She could have.

She supposed that it couldn’t be a high without a low.

She supposed that the universe was always there, always waiting, always just happy to strike her down when she was at her highest.

Always just ready to show him when she’d forgotten about what he’d done.

She didn’t wave. She didn’t smile. She just looked away. Felt her nails dig into her flesh as she looked out towards the cliffs. Towards the open sea.

The walk hadn't been so bad. There was a request for stories, so Brigid tried to think of some. She herself didn't have anything interesting, but her younger siblings had a few fun tales. So she shared some stories about them; cute stories, embarrassing stories, the kind that made her forget where she was. For a moment, it took her back home, where she could forget this was happening. But that came crashing down every time Brigid heard a twig snap under her foot.

She was in Survival of the Fittest, and she was likely to die.

Jasmine and Chris had been decent company, so maybe she could last a while with them. They were nearing a lighthouse, which could be a good holdout if they needed. As they got closer, Brigid noticed there was someone standing nearby. She didn't immediately know who it was, but she could hope it was someone who wouldn't be unpleasant company.

Mini Art

F01: Brigid Paxton, by Violent Medic

F02: Louisa Bloom, by Violent Medic

Former characters

Second Chances

G01: Paige Strand: Armed with a Lipstick Gun, a rock, a machete, and a Beretta 93RKilled due to a lack of conviction.12345

G05: Amber Whimsy: Armed with Kidz Bop and a chair legKilled in what should have been her sanctuary1

Baxter's body was now on the other side of Aria and Sarah, his gaze tracking Paris and Maxwell as they had their conversation. As Maxwell picked his way back over towards them, he shook his head sharply at Aria, followed the gesture with a jab of his chin towards Maxwell.

When the smaller boy fell silent, Baxter twisted his lips into a sardonic expression, the makeshift club in his fist raising in a mocking salute to the other boy.

Nothing much had happened between then and now. For the most they had just walked and talked. If Christopher tried really hard, he could almost pretend like they weren't in a life or death situation. Like they were just a group of friends talking during lunch break or after school.

Of course, Brigid and Jasmine weren't in his friend group at school. It was this fucked up situation that brought them together. Was that ironic?

Christopher, for his part, didn't want to shatter the atmosphere, so he kept his mood lighthearted, shared so jokes, and tried to keep the group's morale up.

Before long, they had reached the cliffs. They weren't alone; that much was evident. The group stopped. It seemed like something had crept in.

Almost exactly on Baxter's cue, Aria had stopped talking. Quickly twisting his head to face Maxwell, he shot him an accusatory glare. Baxter's words did little to curb Aria's suspicions of Maxwell Lombardi. If anything, it just made him more fucking suspicious of the red-haired asshole. He knew Lombardi was a sneak and a grade A jerk. Maybe Baxter was keeping him in line. A fucking large footballer would tend to make people more compliant if nothing else.

"I'd be surprised if she didn't. Not like Lombardi made any fucking effort not to be noticed at school."

Aria couldn't help himself. He'd crossed his arms, finagling a bit with his trumpet to get comfortable. It probably was the confidence that he was with others that caused him to be more vocal. It wasn't like Lombardi could try and kill him, especially with two people as witnesses. Heck, Baxter probably wouldn't hesitate to tackle the fucker to the ground if he tried any of that shit. He had a bit of room to bite back, after spending so many years just taking all of his bullshit.

It was then that Aria had realized that Maxwell was coming back alone.

Maxwell actually acknowledged Sarah - this was actually a bit of a shocker, as Sarah would have thought that Maxwell was too busy with his head up his ass. She would have replied, except then two others came in - Paris Ardennes, resident Bible thumper, and some other small guy who likely made a habit of trying to treat high school like a game of Metal Gear Solid without any of the combat. And so Maxwell and Paris drew to each other like fucking magnets.

Sarah shuffled around a bit, walking closer to the pair of Maxwell and Paris, walking around as she started to hear what they were saying.

Maxwell and Paris talked for a bit - evidently, Paris was trying to save everyone (cue the either canned laughter or the bong hit) by removing anyone that was actually killing people, and Maxwell had been to a cabin somewhere. Meanwhile, more people were coming, and that was making Sarah a tad uncomfortable while Maxie returned to Jock Boy.

"Sarah, you know Maxwell, yes?"

"I'd be surprised if she didn't. Not like Lombardi made any fucking effort not to be noticed at school." Sarah looked at Solid Snake (as he would henceforth be known until some time that she felt like). To be fair, it was a fair point - Maxwell lived in the echelons or the rich and popular, as if the school were his kingdom. So Sarah got an idea.

"Know him? Of course, Maxie's my best friend," Sarah said with a voice dripping with faux sweetness and a smirk that dared Maxwell to contradict him. "After all - "

"Wait a minute, what did you do to Paris?"

And Solid Snake had to ruin it, using the simple act of not paying attention. Sarah shook her head.

"He talked to Paris - Paris took a bong hit and is trying to save everyone or something like that. Next time pay attention, Snake." Sarah looked at the new new arrivals. "Oh, hey. Nothing to worry about here. Just an average day on Death Island."

The walk back had been considerably less eventful than the conversation before. More eventful, however, than the conversation happening in front of Maxwell. Apparently, all it took was for Maxwell to turn his head in the other direction once for the conversation to be about him. How much of an awful person he was. How original they were to make him the target for their insults. How despite not having done anything - despite Paris probably being visible right there - Maxwell was clearly up to no good.

And he supposed Aria was right, in a way.

And he supposed if he wanted to live, if he wanted to win, that he wasn’t going to be able to be a good person.

But Aria was wrong.

He pointed behind him. Didn’t turn his head back.

“He’s near the lighthouse. He wanted me to come back and talk with you.”

He turned his head to Baxter.

Figured that telling the whole truth was the most valuable thing Maxwell could do in this situation, despite how much he knew he was going to dislike working with Aria.

What the hell was up with Sarah? Was she always this much of a bitch? And pay attention? Really? Aria let out a quick huff and rolled his eyes. Not his fault he gave fucking Lombardi and Paris space like they wanted them to. He didn't want to dignify the girl with a response. He did note that Paris seemed really intent on going after players. Aria seriously hoped that it wasn't going to end up fucking him over in the long run.

"Wait, are you serious?"

The animosity had dropped for his voice and he quickly approached Lombardi. Paris just wanted to ditch him? Was he just supposed to fuck off and leave Paris on his own to chase after fucking players and fail to change their ways? That didn't sit well with him at all.

Apparently shit was about going down between Baxter and Lombardi, however. Aria knew better than to fuck around with whatever was going on. That did leave him in a bit of a mess. If he purely wanted to stay safe and just not deal with the stupid fucking game, it probably would be best for him to just hole up with Baxter and fucking Lombardi. Honestly, Aria was already tempted to go with him when Baxter mentioned it to him. It would also mean not dealing with the fucking crazy people on the island, which definitely was a plus to him.

At the same time, he didn't want to leave Paris alone. In reality, Paris was one of his only friends. While Paris's plan was potentially fucking suicidal, Aria didn't want to just leave him. In fact, Aria was planning on trying to convince Paris to come with them to the cabin. Get him off the fucking dangerous path he was on. The way he saw it, Paris was either gonna fucking die or become a player. That was the last thing Aria wanted.

He looked over towards the lighthouse. Maybe he could catch him before he left. Convince him that this was not going to end well and he should just come with them and stop being a fucking idiot. His intentions were good and he was a good person, Aria could never deny that. Aria knew that the world wasn't a fucking good place, especially the world inside this fucking messed up game.

"I'll go with you guys to the cabin, but let me just talk to Paris."

He wasn't sure if they heard. Aria didn't really care for that matter as he already had begun setting off towards where Lombardi had said Paris was.

The newcomer tall dude with the blonde hair was the first to speak up, though Paris wasn't entirely sure it was intended for him to hear if they were all hovering at an arbitrary distance like that. Paris proactively closed the gap himself, leaving his bag sitting on the dirt by the lighthouse door, the handle of his gun still butting out of his pocket. He chose to stand a bit close, a couple of quick steps would close the distance both ways. He was close enough that he could speak softly and be heard.

"Bad things are going on, that's what. But we can change that, am I right or am I?"

Paris smiled easily, surveyed the faces assembled. He didn't recognize names except for one, which he recognized by how it grew and blossomed forth into his memory. A certain Jasmine. They'd shared some good memories, sometime in the distant past that Paris could only remember bits and pieces and scents of. He nodded at all three of them:

Paris still waited for an answer, but Jasmine in particular seemed distracted. He singled her out with a "hey. Jasmine you look bothered, something wrong?" He didn't know what could be up with Jasmine. Maybe the game had gotten to her. "This isn't the time to sulk, you know," Paris chuckled.

Imagine never having anyone in your life that truly, honestly cared about you.

Of course you had your family, and of course you had your friends, but did they really count? Did they really care? When your parents ignored you, when Saffron acted so standoffish, when Aster had all his sports and all his commitments, when Primrose acted like a little shit all the time, did they think of you? When Eris had- has coffee with you, when Rachael talked to you about books, when Miranda talks about gossip did they care about you as a person? Did they want you for who you are rather than what they wanted from you?

No.

They didn’t.

They just wanted the dog who barked, the one so eager to talk down to people outside their circle. They just wanted their stepping stone to reach the top. They just wanted that girl. They wanted you.

And they didn’t care about you. Who you were. How it felt.

How much it hurt.

But there was someone who did. Someone in your music class. He sat with you and he talked with you and he laughed with you at all the things people did, all the things people said. He was cute. Good looking. He asked you out. Made you happy.

Made you fall in love.

Because he cared about you. He loved you. More than he did the other girls. More than he did the skanks, the sluts, all the girls who tried to get his attention.

More than your family, your friends.

So you loved him. Put everything into doing that. Put everything into making sure he knew that you loved him.

Imagine how it felt when he just broke up with you. Dropped you. Moved on to fucking Scarlett and treated her the exact same way.

Remember how you felt.

Hurt.

Betrayed.

Humiliated.

Because you felt like an idiot for falling for him. You felt like an idiot for loving him. Kissing him. Giving him all the attention you did.

You felt like all those other girls. Easy to fool. Easy to fall.

And you felt like an idiot for thinking he cared.

Thinking he still would. Thinking he would still talk to you rather than ghost you. Leave you.

Act as if he never loved you in the first place.

Act as if he didn’t know you still did.

Act - right here, right now - as if there was nothing wrong. As if there was no problem.

"I don't." Paris went on to nodding, slowly. "I mean we're all stuck in a pretty bad situation with all of this stuff, the weapons and the killing and all. I get it might be stressful."

Paris figured that solved that. He slightly turned away from Jasmine, more generally contemplating the air and ambiance around her. His eyes turned briefly to the sky. He wondered who was watching over them, in this hour of their struggle.

He came down back to earth, a bit reluctantly.

"I've got some ideas for how we can approach this, making sure nobody dies." Paris was pretty sure they'd hear him out.